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Chapter Text

Part 2

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Chapter 25

Two days.

It'd been two days since he'd kissed Izuku.

Katsuki was a mess. Not that he'd let anyone know—ever. But inside? He was all twisted up.

They'd been out here on this god-forsaken path for just over three weeks, in another damn world that didn't seem to want them here. It had been two days since they'd packed up, left the cave behind, and kept moving. And in those following days, Katsuki had run through every emotion under the sun—anger, embarrassment, even the strange, simmering satisfaction of it all. But he was left with one undeniable fact, loud and unchanging, like a boulder dropped in his path.

He, Katsuki Bakugo, had kissed Izuku fucking Midoriya.

No, no. Not just kissed. He didn't just fucking kiss Izuku. No, it was beyond that—way beyond that. He had lost it. He'd just... taken the moment, hadn't he? Like some damn wild animal. Like everything that had been building up inside him finally snapped. He hadn't planned it, hadn't thought it through—he just did it. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part? Deku had kissed him back.

His stupid mind hadn't shut up about it since.

But they hadn't talked about it. Not even once. After he'd come to his senses, Katsuki had been so shocked, so damn embarrassed, that he'd practically frozen on the spot. And what was worse was, Izuku hadn't known what to make of it. His expression had been this mix of nervous hope and uncertainty, like he couldn't tell if Katsuki thought the whole thing was some colossal mistake. So, Izuku had done the one thing Katsuki hadn't expected—he'd just... moved on, acting like it had never happened.

Katsuki had told himself he should be thankful for it. Thanking the gods of the parallel that he was glad Izuku had dropped it. And in some ways, he was. Izuku pretending it hadn't happened meant he didn't have to deal with it. Didn't have to explain what he'd been thinking, why he'd felt that intense, possessive urge to stake his claim like some kind of rabid animal. He didn't have to see that look on Izuku's face, the one that asked for answers Katsuki didn't have.

Because he really didn't have them.

But it was also bothering the hell out of him. Because, now, instead of feeling relieved, he felt like he was walking around with this heavy, unspoken tension strung tight between them. It was in every glance Izuku threw his way, every slight brush of their arms when they walked too close, every damn moment he spent lying awake at night, turning it over in his head. That damn kiss kept coming back, kept pulling at him, like something that wouldn't settle until he'd figured it out.

And maybe that's what was bothering him most. That some part of him wanted to talk about it, even if he didn't have a clue where to start. He wanted—needed—some kind of answer to this knot of emotions tangled up inside him. But every time he even thought about bringing it up, he clamped down on the impulse, shoving it down with all the other things he never let himself feel or say.

"Barbarian."

The voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Katsuki blinked, the world sliding back into focus. Shoto stood across from him, arms crossed, the glow from the forge behind him throwing his face and armor into sharp relief. His mismatched eyes gleamed like frozen fire, and his expression—calm and vaguely condescending—was enough to make Katsuki's temper rise.

"What the hell do you want, princess?" Katsuki growled. His irritation bubbled over before he could stop it, seeping into every word. He didn't have the energy for Todoroki's holier-than-thou crap right now.

Shoto's brow lifted, unimpressed. "You have been standing there for the better part of ten minutes, glaring at the snow. Am I to believe this is some manner of strategy, or merely one of your brooding episodes?"

"Brooding, my ass," Katsuki snapped, his fists clenching under his cloak. "I'm keeping watch. Someone has to make sure your royal dumbass doesn't get us ambushed."

"Ah, of course," Shoto said, tilting his head slightly, his tone as sharp as ever. "For what better way to remain vigilant than to scowl into the void like a disgruntled storm god? The pinnacle of vigilance."

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, sparks flickering faintly at his sides. "Keep running your mouth, and we'll see how long that pretty face of yours lasts in this frozen dump."

Before Shoto could respond, a sharp gust of wind howled through the street, biting and relentless. The chill dug through even Katsuki's heavy cloak, though his magic kept the worst of it at bay. Snow swirled around them, catching the amber light from the forge and scattering eerie, shifting patterns across the ground like runes. The cold wasn't what bothered him, not really. It was the silence—the way the whole damn town felt like it was waiting for something to crack.

Frostwharf sprawled around them, grim and lifeless under its icy blanket. At its heart, the forge loomed like a molten beast, its glowing orange rivers carving jagged lines through the snow. Smoke curled upward from its chimneys, blurring the distant cliffs that rose like jagged teeth against the pale sky. The amber glow of the forge seemed to fight a losing battle against the icy blue wilderness beyond the walls.

The buildings clustered around the forge were squat and solid, built to endure the relentless weight of the snow. Frost clung to every surface not within the heat's range, shimmering faintly in the dim light, and the streets were treacherous with slick ice buried beneath fresh drifts. Braziers lined the main thoroughfare, their weak flames barely licking at the oppressive cold.

High stone walls ringed the town, their tops bristling with jagged battlements and watchtowers that loomed like ghostly sentinels. The shadows felt too long, the creak of wood too loud, as if the entire settlement was holding its breath. The air carried a faint metallic tang from the forge, mingling with the scent of burning wood and damp earth.

Katsuki's gaze flicked to the towering silhouette of the forge, then to the snow-choked alleyways stretching like veins from the main street. His scowl deepened. There were people but still, the quiet wasn't natural—it was the kind of quiet that made his teeth itch, that pressed heavy on his chest like a warning.

"Where the hell are Deku and Shitty Scales?" Katsuki growled, his voice cutting through the wind. His eyes darted to the narrow path where they'd vanished, unease twisting tighter in his gut. They'd gone for information—safe passage, directions, something useful. But they'd been gone too long.

He reached down the bond feeling for any sense of danger from the other.

Shoto straightened, following Katsuki's glare toward the shadowed alley. "Izu said they'd return shortly. You might try exercising patience for once."

"Tch." Katsuki's scowl darkened at the sound of the nickname. His gaze darted back to the shadows pooling around the looming buildings. "It's not about patience. Something's off. Been off since Grimreach Harbor." His voice dropped to a low mutter, barely audible over the howling wind. "We're being watched."

Shoto's expression shifted, his sharp gaze slicing toward Katsuki. "You've been saying that for days now, and yet, we remain unscathed. Might I suggest that you're—"

"Not yet," Katsuki cut him off, his crimson eyes burning with frustration as he scented the area. "But it's coming. I can feel it. And when it does, it'll be your damn fault."

Shoto's brow furrowed, irritation flickering through his composed mask. "If you're implying that my actions in Grimreach were reckless—"

"Reckless?" Katsuki let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound cutting through the cold like a whip. "You painted a goddamn target on—" He stopped, waving a hand dismissively, like he could swat Shoto's words away. "Fuck this. I don't have time for your holier-than-thou bullshit."

Shoto's lips curled faintly, the barest flicker of princely disdain. "It is hardly 'holier-than-thou' to suggest that perhaps you're letting paranoia cloud your better judgment, you blistering oaf."

Blistering oaf? Seriously? At least the royal pain in his ass was getting creative now.

"Paranoia?" Katsuki barked another sharp laugh, brittle and biting like cracking ice. "This ain't paranoia, IcyHot. This is me keeping mine and Deku's asses alive. Someone's gotta do it, and it sure as fuck ain't gonna be you."

Shoto regarded him with a long, detached look, lips pressed into a thin line. "Fascinating. Do you always manage to make heroics sound like a personal vendetta?"

Katsuki bristled, sparks snapping faintly at his palms before he forced them to still. Fighting the bastard wouldn't solve anything—not now, when the air felt like it was vibrating with tension, every instinct screaming that something wasn't right. He couldn't see them, couldn't hear or smell them, but his gut never lied. For the life of him he was practically praying it wasn't that crone he'd seen in the market a week ago...Fatebreaker. The name alone made his hackles rise.

With a low growl, he turned away, crouching by the one pack he always carried and yanking it open harder than he needed to.

Shoto watched him for a moment longer, then sighed softly, the sound almost lost to the howling wind. "If you must sulk, I won't stand in your way."

"Don't need your damn permission, Frostbite," Katsuki muttered without looking up, his hands rummaging through his bag. His fingers closed around the bundle of Aetherfin Leather he'd been working on for days. He pulled it free, unrolling the supple material, and ran his fingers over the shimmering surface with practiced care.

The leather caught the forge's amber light, rippling like liquid fire. Tough but flexible, it was perfect for reinforcing his gloves or crafting something a bit more custom.

The stitching he'd been working on—a mix of functionality and a bit of explosive flair—was nearly finished. His design, precise and subtle, wound through the leather in angular patterns that hinted at his quirk from back home without screaming about it. A quiet signature. Not that the nerd would ever notice. But that wasn't the point.

The scabbard was almost done.

Katsuki scowled, pulling the thread tight. His hands moved with the confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times. He hadn't, of course. This was his first scabbard—and it was nothing like his usual projects his parallel version had worked on. But he figured it out, like he always did. At least this was something he could control in this world—worlds?—unlike the chaos of the last two fucking days.

The wind howled through the streets, filling the silence between him and Shoto. For a while, it was almost peaceful—if you ignored the crushing weight of the cold and the unnatural stillness of the town. Katsuki's hands moved with mechanical precision, each stitch exact, each tug firm.

His mind wandered. Unbidden, it slid to Deku and Kirishima. The thought of them out there, alone, made his chest tighten. He shoved the feeling down. They were capable—more capable than most gave them credit for. But that didn't stop the sharp edge of worry from scraping at his nerves.

It wasn't until he heard the faint crunch of footsteps on snow, that his head snapped up, his senses sharpening like a drawn blade. His eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness beyond the forge's glow. The wind carried the sound closer, muffled but unmistakable. His hands stilled, the leather and needle forgotten in his grip.

He sniffed the air, but the sharp tang of metal and slag overwhelmed his sense of smell.

"Someone's coming," Katsuki muttered, his voice low and tense.

Shoto turned his head slightly, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he followed Katsuki's gaze. He didn't speak, but his posture shifted—subtle, deliberate—like a predator readying to strike as he placed a hand on the pommel of his sword.

The tension didn't break until the footsteps rounded the corner, revealing two familiar figures emerging from the swirling snow. Kirishima led the way, broad-shouldered and unmistakable, with his bright hair catching what little light the forge offered. Izuku trailed close behind, his green cloak pulled tight against the biting wind.

Poor nerd was probably freezing.

"Finally." Katsuki shoved the leather back into his pack and stood, brushing stray snow from his cloak. "What the hell took you so long? Get lost in this frozen wasteland or something?"

Kirishima grinned sheepishly, brushing snow from his own shoulders. "Sorry, Master. We ran into some... complications." He didn't elaborate, but the tight set of his jaw and the sharp glint in his eyes told Katsuki enough. Something had gone wrong.

Katsuki didn't hesitate to reach through the bond he shared with Kirishima. The connection thrummed faintly at first, like a thread pulled taut, before Kirishima's familiar warmth filled his mind.

What the hell happened? Katsuki said, his mental tone sharp, cutting straight to the point.

Kirishima's response came quickly, though it carried an undercurrent of quiet frustration. This place... it doesn't sit right, Master. Feels tense, unfriendly. Especially not with Midoriya carrying that relic.

Katsuki's jaw tightened as the bond echoed Kirishima's unease. His crimson gaze darted toward Izuku, who was fussing with the clasp of his cloak, muttering something under his breath as puffs of visible air escaped his lips.

Why? What's their damn problem? Katsuki pressed, the frustration in his thoughts bleeding through their bond. It's just a fucking sword.

Kirishima hesitated, his protective gaze flicking toward Izuku before returning to Katsuki. It's not just a sword here, Master. That relic.. it's like a signal fire. These people—they know it, or they think they do. And they're afraid. Afraid of what might come looking for it. Afraid of the trouble it could bring to their doors.

Of course. Of fucking course. On top of dragging around a prince and surviving this icy wasteland, now the damn nerd was toting something that painted a target on his back. It wasn't Izuku's fault—Katsuki knew that—but it didn't matter. They were already neck-deep in shit, and now Izuku was walking around with a glowing sign screaming, Come kill me.

"Tch." What kind of attention?

The response came quickly, and it wasn't comforting. The bad kind. Whispers started the second we arrived. They recognized the sword immediately. It wasn't just curiosity—it was fear. They think it'll bring something here. Something dangerous.

Kirishima paused a moment before his voice flickered through their bond again, this time with a low, almost malicious undertone that made Katsuki's instincts go on rigid.

There's something else, Master... Kirishima's thoughts flickered with unease, almost a warning. Rumors. People are saying there's a demon in this area. They haven't been seen since the fall of the Demon Lord, but... The dragon's words were filled with a quiet, simmering malice. People are throwing that around like it's just another ghost story, but I don't like it. Not one bit.

Katsuki's stomach dropped at the mention of a demon, his pulse rocketing. I don't care what the fuck is out there. Let them try something, he shot back, his mental voice razor-sharp. I'll blow this whole frozen shithole off the map if they even think about coming for him, be it a mercenary or a goddamned demon.

Kirishima's tone softened, though the unease lingered beneath his words. I figured you'd say that. But it's not just the townsfolk, Master. Besides the rumors, it's out there, too. In the snow. Something's watching. Waiting.

The words sent a chill down Katsuki's spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold. His gaze snapped to the shadows beyond the forge's glow, his senses sharpening as he scanned the dark, snow-covered streets. Who or what was powerful enough to evade the senses of not just him but a dragon?

Shoto shifted slightly, head tilting curiously as he observed the silent exchange between Katsuki and Kirishima. His gaze flicked between them, lingering on the tension in Katsuki's posture, the way his jaw clenched and his fists flexed. The unspoken conversation was practically written across Katsuki's face.

"It would be nice," Shoto said, his voice calm with an edge of dry sarcasm, "to be included in whatever riveting telepathic discourse you're having."

Kirishima smirked, brushing snow off his shoulder pad as if the tension wasn't eating away at him. Katsuki, on the other hand, snapped his head toward Shoto with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "Stay out of it, Ice Prick," he growled, sparks faintly crackling at his fingertips. The edge in his voice wasn't as sharp as usual, though—his focus was split, his senses tuned to something none of them could see.

Shoto lifted his chin, his expression unreadable, though a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "If it involves something stalking us through the snow, I would rather not be left in the dark... Savage."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. His attention shifted, unbidden, to Izuku. The nerd was still fumbling with his cloak, his cheeks faintly flushed from the cold—or maybe something else. Katsuki's gaze lingered a second too long, his chest tightening with something he didn't dare name.

Izuku glanced up suddenly, those emerald eyes catching Katsuki mid-stare.

"Kacchan?" Izuku's voice was soft, uncertain, but Katsuki spun away immediately, his hands moving to tighten the straps of his leather bracer.

"Did you get what we needed or not?" Katsuki muttered, his voice lower, gruffer than before. Shoto only smirked at the air of awkwardness between them. If the asshole kept it up he was going to slap that look off his face.

Izuku hesitated, his fingers fumbling with the edge of his belt. "Y-Yeah," he said quickly. "Someone recommended the Path of the Fallen. It's supposed to be the safest route right now, especially with the storm picking up."

"Safest?" Katsuki repeated, his brow furrowing. His voice came sharp but lacked its usual bite. "For who? We talked about this already, nerd. That path is crawling with leftover traps and monsters. I get it. I do." He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck before Izuku cut in, his voice steady but urgent, his green eyes locking onto Katsuki's. "Most of those traps aren't aerial, Kacchan." His tone was resolute, the words coming fast as if to counter Katsuki's momentum before he could overwhelm him. "The adventurers I talked to said the skies over that path have been cleared of spells and barriers for years. The more powerful adventurers—the ones who cleared the way—most of them had winged mounts, Kacchan. They stuck to the air because it was faster and safer. That's where they focused on breaking down traps and spells. The people I talked to said that's why the skies are mostly clear now."

"Mostly. You keep saying that like it's supposed to make me feel better."

Izuku's gaze didn't waver. "It's better than nothing. If we stick to riding Kirishima, we can avoid most of the ground hazards entirely. The things that are left—curses, old magic, The Maw—they're focused in ruins or specific choke points. If we're careful, we can get through without running into any of it."

Kirishima perked up at the mention of his name, If flying's the best option, I'm all for it. But that's up to you, Master. We might need a seat crafted though.

Katsuki's brow furrowed at the thought of Shoto riding on Kirishima's back. The idea didn't sit right with him. The dragon was his—his—ride, not some goddamn royal pain's. He wasn't sure how to feel about the idea of letting him anywhere near Kirishima.

You're actually considering letting that icy bastard ride you? His hand twitched with the need to make a point—maybe a fist to Shoto's smug face, a minor transaction. I mean, I get it. You're a dragon and all, but this ain't just some friendly offer. You sure you're cool with that?

Kirishima's response was slow, like he was considering the options. I'm not thrilled about it, Master, Kirishima thought, his tone edged with reluctance. But... He sighed, the sound coming through their bond like a heavy exhale. If it's what gets both you and Midoriya to the destination sooner and safer, then... I'll deal with it. We need to keep moving. Besides, it's not like he'll be a permanent rider. Just until we're out of this mess.

Those last words stung more than he cared to admit, but he didn't bother correcting them. He and the dragon both knew that there was no "getting out of this mess." At least not for him and Izuku.

Losing Katsuki after the soul bond would devastate Kirishima, but Katsuki knew in his heart that the dragon would survive.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, his hands planted on his hips as he let Izuku's reasoning sink in. His scowl didn't fade, but the tension in his shoulders loosened slightly. "Tch. Fine, nerd. We'll stick to the skies."

Katsuki grumbled, running a hand through his hair as he looked at Kirishima, who just shrugged. "If we're all gonna be riding him, we're gonna need a custom seat. Something sturdy enough for three people.

Shoto, standing a few paces away with his arms crossed, spoke up. "Finding a shop that has one ready-made, let alone someone skilled enough to craft it, will take a few days. That's assuming we can even find someone willing to do it on short notice."

"That's fine," Izuku said firmly, adjusting his cloak nervously, his eyes darting between Katsuki and Kirishima. "The storm's too strong right now. If we leave, we could get stuck or lose our bearings entirely. Someone suggested we wait it out until it clears up, then move quickly through the pass."

Kirishima shifted, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. His jaw worked, as though biting back a comment, but the tension rolling off him was impossible to miss.

Katsuki's eyes swept over the huddled townsfolk near the forge and the market stalls. Their glances were quick, darting, and wary, cutting through the cold like daggers. Every muscle in Katsuki's body tensed, he been that way since they got here. He hated this—being surrounded, exposed. His instincts were telling him to move, to keep moving. But logic, irritating as it was, told him Izuku had a point.

"We're not sticking around longer than we have to," Katsuki sighed, his gaze snapping back to Izuku. His crimson eyes narrowed but softened slightly. "And you—tighten that damn cloak before you catch something. You're not collapsing on me again, got it?"

Izuku blinked, startled, his hands fumbling to obey. "Right... sorry."

Kirishima cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. "Right, now that we've got that sorted," he said, his grin crooked but genuine. The unease in his eyes, though, hadn't faded. "How about we find some food and lodging? I'm starving, and I'm pretty sure the humans are running on fumes too."

Izuku's stomach betrayed him with a low growl, his face burning as he tugged the edges of his cloak tighter. "I-I guess that's a good idea..."

Katsuki grunted, hands flexing at his sides as sparks flickering faintly before fading. "Fine. But we keep it quick. I don't trust this place. We'll make camp on the outskirts."

Shoto adjusted his pack, giving a single, composed nod. "There was a tavern near the market when we first arrived. It should suffice."

They trudged through the snow-slick streets, the cold wind biting at their exposed skin. The oppressive stillness of the town clung to them, heavy and suffocating. Every window they passed was faintly illuminated by the forge's light but shuttered tightly against the storm. A few townsfolk hurried through the streets, their movements brisk, their eyes darting toward the group with thinly veiled suspicion.

The faint warmth radiating from the tavern's door was almost enough to ease the tension in Katsuki's chest. Almost. He shoved the door open, stepping inside as the low murmur of voices abruptly halted. Every eye in the room turned toward them.

The tavern was dimly lit, its lanterns flickering as though the light itself was reluctant to linger. Shadows danced across the rough wooden tables and stone walls. Katsuki's sharp gaze swept the room, landing on several hooded figures near the far wall. They were hunched over their drinks, their faces obscured by shadow, but the way they shifted—just slightly, almost imperceptibly—was enough to set his teeth on edge.

The rest of the patrons—hardened miners, weather-beaten hunters, and other locals—stared openly, their expressions ranging from wary to outright hostile. The low hum of conversation didn't resume, leaving the room draped in an uneasy silence.

Katsuki's scowl deepened. Lovely.

They'd found a quiet corner to eat, the smell of bread and stew mingling with the faint tang of damp stone. Katsuki's sharp gaze never stopped sweeping the room.

It wasn't paranoia. He knew what he'd heard.

The whispers had started the moment they stepped inside—low, hushed, but impossible to miss with senses as sharp as his. Murmurs about the sword strapped to Izuku's back, about the prince seated at their table. The crest and materials he wore made him stick out like a sore thumb. Shoto's face remained calm, impassive as always, but Katsuki caught the faint narrowing of his mismatched eyes. He'd heard some of them too.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

The hooded figures in the corner hadn't spoken, but their subtle, measured shifts toward the party set Katsuki's nerves on edge. He clenched his fists under the table, the itch to do something crawling up his arms. But nothing happened. No one made a move. For now, the whispers stayed whispers, the glares stayed glares.

Still, he couldn't relax.

The food wasn't much to speak of. Just stew, bread, and weak ale. Katsuki poked at the chunk of bread on his plate, chewing it slowly as his scowl deepened.

The stew was fine—better than some of the slop he'd eaten in this parallel—but damn if he wouldn't kill for a steaming bowl of mappo tofu.

The thought alone made his stomach tighten. Spicy, numbing heat balanced with the tang of Sichuan peppercorn and chili oil, the silky texture of tofu soaking up every drop of flavor. He could practically smell it, that rich, savory aroma that always made his mouth water.

And tea. He nearly groaned at the thought. A real cup of tea. Not this lukewarm excuse for ale sloshing in his mug. Something hot, strong, and bitter. The kind that jolted you awake and made you feel alive.

The scrape of a chair broke through his thoughts. Kirishima shifted beside him, the dragon's stalky frame drawing creaks from the worn wood. To anyone else, he might have looked relaxed, casual even, but Katsuki knew better. The tension hummed between them through their bond, tight as a bowstring.

Katsuki's spoon paused mid-air as his eyes flicked toward Kirishima, catching the faint furrow in his brow, the way his fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against the table. His golden eyes, sharp and predatory even in his human form, scanned the room with the same vigilance as Katsuki's.

You feel it too, Shitty Scales?

Yeah, Kirishima rumbled back, his response a low vibration Katsuki felt more than heard. The whole room's holding its breath. And not in a good way. Like the calm before a fight. I don't particularly like it.

Katsuki sniffed, his gaze cutting back to the hooded figures near the far wall. He could feel the tension wafting off the other patrons in waves, a mix of fear, suspicion, and something darker. It wasn't just the glares or the whispers that had followed them in—it was the smell. That sour, acrid scent of unease that clung to the air like smoke. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to Katsuki and Kirishima, with their heightened senses, it was as clear as a warning bell.

But something about those people in the hoods. One of them had left, but the others weee still there. Their movements were slow, deliberate, the kind that didn't draw attention but spoke volumes to anyone paying enough. A chair scraped faintly. A mug clinked softly on the table. But there was nothing else—no nervous fidgeting, no whispered words.

The worst part? There was nothing coming off them.

No scent, no emotion, no trace of the unease that clung to the rest of the room like smoke. It was unnatural, like watching ghosts pretending to be people.

Without lifting his head, Kirishima's forked tongue flickered out briefly, tasting the air in a motion so quick it could've been missed. The gesture sent a ripple of awareness through their bond. Katsuki didn't move, didn't let his focus waver, but he zeroed in on Kirishima's reaction.

The dragon huffed softly, the sound barely audible over the clatter of utensils and mugs. Then, as if dismissing whatever he'd gleaned, he shoved a hefty spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing like he didn't have a care in the world.

Katsuki said nothing. They both knew better than to tip their hand.

They finished eating quickly, tension rolling off them like smoke. Katsuki stood first, adjusting his cloak with sharp, deliberate movements. "Let's move," he muttered, his eyes cutting briefly to the door before flicking back to the hooded figures.

Izuku nodded, fumbling with his wears as he rose. The sword strapped to his back shifted slightly, catching the dim light. The movement drew every eye in the room for a moment too long. The faster they were out of here the better.

They barely made it three steps before a burst of movement from the kitchen caught everyone's attention.

A young bar maid stumbled into the room, her tray piled high with steaming bowls. Her wide eyes darted nervously to the patrons, her forced smile doing nothing to mask the tension in her every step.

The inevitable happened fast.

Her foot caught on a loose floorboard. The tray wobbled. Bowls teetered on the edge. One toppled.

The sharp crack of pottery shattering against the floor broke the fragile quiet. Soup splattered across the wood, and a jagged edge of the bowl caught Izuku's hand on the way down, slicing a shallow line across his knuckles.

Izuku flinched, his hand pulling close to his chest as a drop of blood welled up and rolled across his skin.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" The girl's voice trembled as she scrambled for a rag, her face pale. "I—I didn't mean—oh, let me help!"

She leaned down, dabbing at the cut with a piece of cloth snatched hastily from her apron. Blood beaded on Izuku's hand, bright against his pale skin. He tried to wave her off with a sheepish smile.

"It's okay, really. It's just a scratch—"

"Back off."

Kirishima's voice came low and rough, a growl edged with a dragon's warning, nearly making Izuku and Shoto jump out of their skins. His golden eyes flared, pupils narrowing into sharp slits as his bulk loomed larger, protective instincts crackling in the air around him.

The bar maid froze, her trembling hands still clutching the cloth. She looked up, her wide eyes darting between them—first to Kirishima, then to Izuku, and finally to Katsuki.

Kirishima's broad shoulders seemed to fill the space, his towering frame dwarfing the table. Even in his human form, there was something feral in the way he stood, his lips curled just enough to reveal the faintest hint of teeth.

Then there was Katsuki.

Though smaller than Kirishima, he stood like a coiled storm, his lean, powerful frame radiating barely-contained energy. His crimson eyes locked onto the woman with a razor-sharp focus, their intensity cutting through the air as effectively as any weapon.

Between the two of them, they seemed to cast Izuku in shadow.

"Kirishima." Izuku's voice was soft but firm, steadying as Shoto strode past Katsuki, a hand resting on his pommel as if the dragon hadn't just scared the shit out of him. "Guys, it's fine. She didn't mean to."

For a moment, Kirishima didn't move, his gaze fixed on the poor woman like she was prey that had wandered too close. Then he exhaled sharply, muscles still taut as he stepped back, his teeth still bared in a silent warning. "Watch yourself," he hissed.

The bar maid flinched, mumbling an apology as she hastily gathered the broken bowl and fled toward the kitchen. Izuku watched her go, his expression flickering between guilt and concern. Shoto brushed an invisible speck of dust from his immaculate cape and gestured toward the door with an inclination of his head.

"Shall we?" he asked, his tone smooth but carrying just enough weight to brook no delay.

Izuku nodded, pulling at the strap of his makeshift scabbard, the sword on his back shifting slightly. Katsuki followed with his usual scowl, and Kirishima brought up the rear, his massive frame a silent, glaring deterrent to anyone who might be stupid enough to follow.

The cold hit them like a slap, the wind slicing through the narrow streets and stealing the warmth from their skin. Katsuki yanked his cloak tighter, teeth clenched as his boots crunched through the packed snow. The faint glow of lanterns hanging from doorways barely softened the biting dark, and every echo of their steps scraped against his nerves. How the hell could it be even colder?

At the edge of the street, Katsuki stopped, again sweeping their surroundings, picking apart every shadow for signs of movement. The others stopped behind him, their presence a muted pressure at his back.

"Shitty Scales." Katsuki's voice was brisk, cutting through the wind. "Go scout us a spot to set up camp. Something on the outskirts, close to the wall but out of sight. Mind your surroundings."

Kirishima's broad shoulders shifted as he turned to Katsuki, those predatory eyes narrowing slightly. His gaze flicked briefly to Izuku and Shoto before returning to Katsuki. The bond between them hummed faintly with unspoken concern.

"You sure?" Kirishima asked, his tone steady but edged with a quiet wariness.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Katsuki waved a hand dismissively, his cloak shifting with the movement. "I saw a forge a few alleys back—looked like they specialize in crafting. I need to check it out. There's something I need finished... and maybe they have some seats already made."

Kirishima pursed his lips, curiosity flickering across his face. He didn't press for details, though Katsuki could feel the unspoken question hanging in the air.

Katsuki didn't elaborate. He wasn't about to explain that he needed help with the last touches on the scabbard, that it wasn't just functional but something meaningful. That wasn't anyone's business but his own.

Before Kirishima could ask, Katsuki jerked his chin toward Izuku. "Take Deku with you," he said, his tone sharp but not unkind.

Izuku blinked, startled. "Huh? Me? Why?"

"Because I said so, nerd." Katsuki drawled; eyes locked onto his for a brief moment before darting away. "You can help Shitty Scales find a spot, and while you're at it, maybe practice riding him. Who knows when that'll be the difference between life and death?"

Izuku's mouth opened—probably to argue—but whatever words were forming on his tongue never made it out. His expression softened, the hesitation giving way to something quieter. Katsuki didn't meet his gaze, his fingers busy tightening the straps of his cloak. He focused on the rough texture beneath his fingers, anything to avoid seeing the look in Izuku's eyes. He didn't want to see the confusion—or worse, the understanding.

Kirishima gave Katsuki a sidelong glance, the bond between them flickering faintly. The dragon didn't say anything, but Katsuki could feel the quiet acknowledgment, the unspoken promise to keep an eye on Izuku.

"Good," Katsuki muttered, his voice brusque. He jerked his chin toward the alley. "I won't be long. I'll call for you when I'm done."

Kirishima nodded, his gaze shifting into something softer as he turned to Izuku. "Alright, hatchling. Let's get moving. I'll show you how to climb up properly this time—you've been doing great, but there's always room for improvement."

Izuku gave a hesitant smile, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold—or maybe something else entirely. "Okay. Let's do it."

As Kirishima led the way, he patted Izuku on the head, earning a flustered chuckle from the smaller boy. Katsuki watched them go, his hands buried in his pockets. For a moment, something softer flickered across his face, but he shoved it aside with a low grunt, shaking his head as if to clear it.

He turned sharply on his heel—only to stop dead in his tracks, scowling.

"Shit."

Standing just behind him, perfectly composed and wearing an expression of patient smugness, was Shoto.

"The hell are you still doing here, half-and-half?"

Shoto raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as if Katsuki had just asked the most obvious question in the world. "Observing and realize you've forgot my exist, yet again. Besides, someone must remain to ensure you don't maim the first person you encounter."

Katsuki opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut, fists clenching as a low growl rumbled in his throat. Through the bond, he felt a sharp ripple of laughter from Kirishima, distant but unmistakable. He practically heard the dragon's voice in his head: Oh, this is gonna be good.

Shut it, Shitty Scales, Katsuki fired back through the bond, his irritation burning hotter as he turned back to Shoto. The ice prince hadn't moved, hadn't even shifted his weight, but somehow his stillness was more aggravating than anything else.

Katsuki's eye twitched. "Get lost, princess. I've got shit to do."

Shoto's lips curved into a faint smile, his tone as smooth and even as always. "And deprive myself of such riveting entertainment? Perish the thought."

Katsuki whirled to glare at him, fists clenching as sparks crackled faintly at his sides. "If you don't shut up, I'll—"

"What?" Shoto interrupted, deadpan. "Make me?"

The growl rumbling in Katsuki's throat was practically audible. "Don't tempt me."

Shoto's eyes gleamed faintly, giving a mock bow. "After you, savage."

Katsuki groaned, running a hand down his face. Great, he thought bitterly. Stuck with the ice bastard in a forge. Perfect. Just what he fucking needed.

Roughly half an hour later, he shoved the forge door open with more force than necessary, stomping inside while Shoto followed at a maddeningly unhurried pace. Like the asshole was out for a measly stroll.

The forge's heat hit like a wall, waves of blistering air rolling over them. Katsuki shot a sidelong glance at Shoto, his voice low and sharp. "Why the hell couldn't you get lost like everyone else?"

"Because," Shoto didn't miss a beat, inspecting a rack of tools as if he owned the place. "I enjoy your company."

The words stopped Katsuki cold. He whipped around, scowling. "Bullshit."

A faint smirk tugged at Shoto's lips. "Perhaps."

Katsuki groaned again, louder this time, muttering a string of expletives that would've made a seasoned sailor blush. The clang of hammers and hiss of molten metal swallowed his muttering as he stalked toward a workbench, his eyes scanning the tools. If the damn smith didn't show soon, he'd just handle it himself.

"Need help?" A deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the racket.

Katsuki turned sharply, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the speaker before he did a double take. Broad shoulders, red hair, sharp golden eyes behind a metal mask. Recognition flared, sharp and unwelcome. Wolfram. The villain from I-Island.

"What the actual fuck—" His hands sparked instinctively before he forced them still. He wasn't sure if it was Wolfram-wolfram or just some shitty coincidence—but it didn't matter. "You've gotta be kidding me."

The man didn't blink. "Here to commission something, or just browsing?"

Shoto tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his face. "You know him?"

Katsuki's jaw tightened. "Nope. Never seen him before." His tone dared Shoto to push it further. Explaining dimensional villains wasn't on today's agenda.

Wolfram didn't seem to care. "Then state your business."

From his pack, Katsuki pulled out a carefully folded piece of leather. "This. Needs finishing."

The smith unfolded it, running calloused fingers over the surface. "Aetherfin leather." His voice shifted, the disinterest replaced with focus. "Good stitching. What's it for?"

"Scabbard," Katsuki grunted. "Fast draw. Rough use."

"Looking to finish it up with chapes?" A curt nod from Katsuki. "I'll take care of it." Wolfram turned to his tools without another word.

Shoto's gaze drifted past the smith, landing on something large and dark at the back of the workshop. His eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. "Is that... a saddle?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with intrigue. "For a large mount?"

Katsuki's head snapped up, his brows furrowing in confusion as the smith paused, glancing over his shoulder. Without a word, the man walked to the back of the forge, the clinking of his boots echoing against the metal and stone. He returned moments later carrying the object Shoto had pointed out.

The saddle was massive—almost as tall as Katsuki himself—and crafted from sleek, onyx-black leather that seemed to shimmer faintly in the forge's firelight. Its contours were precise, with grooves for more than two riders to sit comfortably, and its surface was adorned with subtle yet intricate embossments that suggested a mix of functionality and artistry. It exuded a presence, like it was meant for something grand and dangerous.

"This," the smith said, his voice steady, "was commissioned long ago. But the person who ordered it never returned to claim it." He ran a hand over the leather, a touch of reverence in his movements. "It's for a dragon."

Shoto tilted his head slightly, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on the saddle. "What are the odds," he murmured under his breath, almost to himself.

"How much?" Shoto asked suddenly, his tone polite but firm, as if he already knew the answer and didn't care.

The smith raised an eyebrow, clearly assessing the noble-looking customer before him. "It's worth a small fortune," he said bluntly. "More than most can spare. This is made from the finest materials. And enchanted."

At first, it looked like nothing more than a trick of the forge light—the soft orange glow of flames flickering across the slick, onyx-black leather. But Katsuki traced the details, reading the Runes embedded within.

Without a hint of hesitation, Shoto reached to his belt, producing a small, unassuming sack. He tossed it onto the counter with a muffled clink of coins, the weight of it unmistakable. The smith's golden eyes widened slightly, but he didn't immediately reach for the bag.

Katsuki glared at Shoto, incredulous.

Shoto didn't look at him, his attention focused solely on the smith. "You said it was for a dragon," he replied simply, his voice as smooth as ever. "I have a dragon."

Katsuki sneered down at the prince; you mean my fucking dragon asswipe.

The smith regarded Shoto carefully, his gaze flicking between the noble and Katsuki, then down to the sack of coins. With a slow nod, he picked up the bag, pouring a handful of coins into his palm. The golden pieces gleamed in the firelight, their weight and value unmistakable.

"It's yours," the smith said finally, handing the sack back to Shoto. "But you'll need to adjust it for your mount. Dragons aren't exactly one-size-fits-all."

Shoto inclined his head in acknowledgment. "That won't be a problem."

The smith hefted the massive saddle onto the counter with a grunt, the sound of its weight settling reverberating through the workshop. He wiped his hands on his apron, turning his focus back to the leather scabbard Katsuki had brought in earlier.

"I'll finish that scabbard now," the smith said, his tone brisk and professional. "If it's only the metal chapes, it won't take me long."

Katsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, his eyes darting between the workbench and Shoto. The bastard had wandered closer, studying the shimmering leather like it was some kind of artifact.

"You've been busy," Shoto remarked, not looking up as he pulled one of his spatial storage crystals. The air around it rippled faintly, as if reality itself were bending to accommodate it.

"Yeah? And?"

"Aetherfin isn't something you come by accidently." Shoto's gaze met his. "Thoughtful."

The glow of the crystal brightened slightly, and Shoto moved the crystal over the saddle storing it. Katsuki's glare sharpened as he pocketed the crystal. "You wanna make a point, or just hear yourself talk?"

Shoto shrugged. "Merely an observation. It's not just functional. It's personal. You wouldn't go to such lengths for just anyone. This is for Izu, isn't it?"

The air between them turned electric. "Mind your own damn business," Katsuki snapped.

"It's not an insult." Shoto's voice stayed infuriatingly level. "You know—caring for someone. There's no need to treat it like some guarded secret."

Katsuki bit back a retort, his fists clenching hard enough to ache. "I don't care what you think, just keep your damn opinions to yourself." He turned his focus to the workbench, hoping if he concentrated hard enough, maybe Shoto would get the hint and shut the hell up.

Obviously, he fucking didn't.

Shoto leaned lazily against a nearby pillar, his mismatched eyes flicking between Katsuki and the methodical movements of Wolfram's hands at the workbench. His voice came again, soft but deliberate, cutting through the forge's heat. "I'm aware things have been... strained between you and Izu these past few days."

Katsuki stiffened, his shoulders drawing up like a crossbolt cocking. His eyes snapped to Shoto, sharp as daggers. "Stop calling him that," he barked, the words cutting through the heated air of the forge like ice. "You don't know him well enough to give him nicknames."

Shoto's eyebrow arched in mild amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Noted," he said with a shrug, unbothered. "But you can't deny it. Something's changed."

Katsuki glared at him, his teeth grinding audibly. "It's none of your damn business, half-and-half."

Shoto pushed off the pillar, taking a single step closer. Though his posture was relaxed, his gaze was piercing, unwavering. "Actually, it is. Because while you're busy pretending you don't care, I'm over here intent on courting him."

Here was this fucking bullshit again.

Sparks flared at his fingertips, a low, guttural growl rumbling from deep in Katsuki's chest. The berserker that lurked beneath his carefully constructed walls stirred, bristling at the very idea of Shoto getting anywhere near Izuku like that.

"Watch it," Katsuki spat, the word dripping with venom.

Shoto only stared, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Katsuki's barely contained fury. "Why," he said evenly. "He knows my intentions well enough. And I don't hide it, unlike... some people. If your truly stuck in that god awful cycle, does he not deserve a chance at happiness, however small it maybe?"

Katsuki's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, the crackle of his magic intensifying. "You don't know a damn thing about what he deserves."

"Don't I?" Shoto countered. "He deserves someone who isn't afraid to be honest. Someone who won't run from their feelings or leave him questioning where they stand. Can you say you've been that for him, Savage?"

Katsuki's thoughts burned with frustration and raw emotion as Shoto's calm, knowing words seemed to scrape at the edges of his composure. It wasn't just what Shoto was saying—it was the fact that the ice bastard was hitting a nerve Katsuki couldn't even bring himself to fully acknowledge. His growl deepened, baring his fangs in a snarl.

Shoto tilted his head, like Katsuki was some puzzle to solve. "You've been pretending nothing's happened these last two days. We all see it. Izuku's been quieter, more nervous. You've been on edge. Whatever's eating at you, it's obvious."

Katsuki bristled, his teeth grinding audibly. "Shut your damn mouth. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Shoto didn't back down, his voice soft but relentless. "But I'm making it my business, Savage. You can't keep avoiding this—avoiding him. Not if you actually care."

The words made Katsuki snap, the fury rising like a wildfire he couldn't control. His hands sparked violently, and he stepped closer, coming face to face with the prince. "You're just jealous, aren't you? Jealous that Deku—Izuku—doesn't want anything to do with you!"

Shoto's calm demeanor cracked, his eyes narrowing as a faint flicker of irritation crossed his face. "Jealous?" he repeated, his voice quieter now, the icy edge of his tone sharper than before. "I think you've misunderstood something, berserker."

"Yeah?" Katsuki spat, the words laced with venom. "What the hell's there to misunderstand? You think he's just gonna fall into your arms while you prance around like you're some perfect prince? Newsflash, asshole, you're not the one attached to him through a space time quirk. And no matter how badly you want it, it will never be you."

The jab was aimed to hurt, to shut Shoto up, but instead, it only made his expression harden. He stepped even closer, closing the distance between them, and for the first time his voice dropped to a low, measured growl.

"And you think that makes you special?" he shot back. "You're tied to him through this quirk, Bakugo Katsuki. That's not the same as being tied to someone through choice. Through trust. Through love."

Katsuki's hands were glowing now, the frustration bubbling up like a volcano ready to blow. "You don't know a damn thing about what we've been through," he growled, baring his teeth. "What we've lived through. So don't stand there and act like you're his fucking savior."

"I don't need to act like anything," Shoto replied, his voice ice-cold now. "I'm not the one avoiding him like a coward, pretending everything's fine when it clearly isn't. You're the one too scared to face what's right in front of you. You think he doesn't notice? That he doesn't feel it? You're hurting him. Whether you want to admit it or not."

The words sliced through Katsuki like a blade, but he refused to show it. He couldn't deny it, not really. Shoto had hit the mark, and the truth of it burned worse than anything. "You're just pissed," he hissed, his voice dangerously low, "because no matter how hard you try, you'll never be what he wants. He's not looking at you, half-and-half. And he never will."

Shoto's expression shifted, a flicker of irritation finally breaking through his calm exterior. "And you're so sure he's looking at you?" he countered, his voice edged with disdain. "Tell me, berserker—what have you done to deserve that?"

Before Katsuki could respond, the forge's door creaked open, the sound slicing through their escalating argument like a knife. Both of them froze, their sharp gazes snapping toward the entrance.

Standing there, framed by the faint light spilling in from the snowy street beyond, was Izuku.

"Deku?" Katsuki's voice was sharp, his crimson eyes narrowing as he shoved past the prince. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Izuku's frantic eyes darted between them, his face flushed from the cold. "I—I came to get you," he stammered, his breath coming out in visible puffs. "The Dragon... he ran into trouble. He needs help."

Shoto straightened, his mismatched eyes narrowing with confusion. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?" he asked, stepping closer.

Izuku hesitated, shifting on his feet. "I—I'm not sure, something attacked us" he admitted, his voice shaky. "He told me to find you. I...I ran from just beyond the south gate."

Katsuki's eyes swept over Izuku, his sharp gaze catching every detail. Cloak secured. Sword still strapped to his back. Boots dusted with snow. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing seemed wrong. But still, a faint unease crawled up his spine. Something about the way Izuku stood, the slight tension in his shoulders, didn't sit right with him.

"Why didn't Shitty Scales just yell through the bond?" Katsuki asked, his voice tight with suspicion. "Why have you run all the way here?"

"He tried," Izuku said quickly, his tone desperate. "It—it wasn't working. I think the storm's interfering or something. Please, we have to hurry!"

The forge master chose that moment to step in, holding out the finished scabbard. "Here's your order," Wolfram said gruffly, placing the sleek leather scabbard into Katsuki's waiting hands.

Katsuki snatched it without a word, his gaze still fixed on Izuku. "Fine," he said, sliding the scabbard into his pack. "Let's go."

Izuku turned on his heel and bolted, the urgency in his movements leaving no room for questions. Shoto exchanged a quick glance with Katsuki, his expression unreadable, before following Izuku out the door. Katsuki hesitated for only a fraction of a second before cursing under his breath and running after them.

The snow crunched under their boots as Katsuki and Shoto followed after Izuku, who was darting through narrow alleys with alarming speed. The streets grew darker with every turn, the dim glow of the town's forges fading behind them, leaving the shadows to creep closer.

"Damn it," Katsuki hissed under his breath, his eyes locked onto Izuku's back as they rounded another corner. Something about this didn't feel right. The tension in his gut had been coiling tighter with every step, and it wasn't just the urgency in Izuku's voice—it was the details, or lack thereof. Something wasn't adding up.

As they sprinted down a particularly narrow alley, Izuku took a sharp left, the movement almost too fluid, too rehearsed. Katsuki's eyes flicked to the sword strapped to his back, the Blade of Eternity catching the faintest glint of light. His breath hitched, his mind snapping to full attention.

That's not it.

He came to a sudden halt, his hand shooting out to grab Shoto by the shoulder and yanking him to a stop. The force of the motion made Shoto stagger, and he turned on Katsuki annoyed.

"What?" Shoto barked, his voice low but heated. "Why are we stopping?"

"Look at him," Katsuki hissed, his crimson eyes blazing as they stayed fixed on Izuku. "Look at his back."

Shoto's gaze flicked toward Izuku, who had stopped a few feet ahead, breathing heavily as he leaned against the wall of the dark alley. His green eyes darted between them, wide and confused. "What's wrong?" Izuku asked, his voice soft and strained, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

Katsuki didn't respond immediately. Instead, he scanned the alley, taking in the unnatural stillness of the place. The snow here was untouched, the faint light of distant lanterns barely reaching this far. It was too quiet, too empty, like the place had been abandoned entirely. Katsuki's jaw tightened as his nostrils flared. There was nothing coming of him, no scent, no hint of emotions coming of him. He took a step closer, his voice low and deliberate as he spoke in Japanese. "Who are you?"

Izuku froze, those eyes flickering with something—hesitation? Confusion? Fear? But he didn't respond, not even a flinch of recognition at the language. Katsuki's bared his teeth, his gut twisting with confirmation.

"You don't understand a damn word I'm saying, do you?" Katsuki questioned. His hand flexed, tiny sparks dancing at his fingertips as his instincts screamed at him to act.

Shoto swore, hand moving to the hilt of his sword, eyes narrowing as realization dawned. "You're not him," Shoto said, his voice cold and sharp. Slowly, he unsheathed his blade, the faint rasp of steel cutting through the silence.

'Izuku' straightened, his breathing steadying unnaturally fast. His green eyes darted between them, no longer wide with confusion but sharp with calculation. And then, slowly, a smirk spread unnaturally across his face.

"Well," 'Izuku' said, the voice still soft but now laced with malice, "guess the game's up."

The skin shimmered at the edge of 'Izuku's' face, like an oil slick catching the light. Slowly, the shimmer spread further, and a piece of the illusion seemed to peel away like paint flaking off a wall, revealing the unmistakable, almost doll-like features beneath. The golden eyes glinted with something far too wild, far too unhinged to belong to Izuku, and the smirk on her lips was sharp, predatory.

Katsuki's breath froze in his chest as the realization struck him like a lightning bolt. Fuck...FUCK.

The figure's shoulders relaxed, and with a low, eerie chuckle, the illusion rippled again, the edges of 'Izuku' bleeding away until a woman stood before them in her full, twisted glory.

What stood in his place was something far more sinister than a mere human.

Horns. Claws. Black eyes with gold pupils that cut through the dark like twin blades. That was all he needed to know. That, and the grin stretched too wide across her face — the kind of grin that only ever meant one thing.

Predator.

Those rumors about something lurking in these lands hadn't been utter bullshit. He knew exactly what he was looking at.

Demon.

Her golden eyes danced with amusement as she tilted her head, licking one of her claws as if imagining what they would taste like. Snowflakes caught in her wild blonde hair, but the cold didn't seem to bother her.

Toga, it was fucking Toga.